


Of leather and wood

by Ruuuka



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Lokitty, M/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Canon Fix-It, mild thorki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2020-10-20 12:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20675549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruuuka/pseuds/Ruuuka
Summary: Thor really has to stop picking up stray animals on his ways, the Guardians complain while coping with the newest guest on deck. The inquisitive creature is much too common to be a worthy member of the team, as it has but one peculiarity: at times, it turns into what Thor calls his long lost brother.





	1. Chapter 1

No one really understands the phenomenon, their considered explanations are single-worded: sorcery, curse, madness, bullshit. Only one thing has been decided from the start, which no one dares go against: the creature that joined them self-righteously on a recently visited planet is under Thor’s protection. After all, it’s his brother.

At least while asleep.

As soon as it wakes up, it turns into an ordinary black-furred cat. No speech, no observable abilities beyond the expectable characteristics. It mewls, washes itself, goes wherever it pleases and ignores everyone until it’s feeding time – which it determines without aid as well.

Whenever it falls asleep, a magical change happens: Loki appears in the cat’s place, clad in soft black cotton. Thor can see his brother, whom he let go of several times, although they can’t speak to each other, because Loki is a feline again by the time he opens his eyes when stirred awake. So Thor doesn’t wake him any more; he just sits there and stares at him, eager to decipher the possible foolery behind the phenomenon, occasionally until the end of the sorcerer's daytime naps. Sometimes he risks touching a fold on his brother's clothes, or even his hair, or his wrist where the shirt ends. If it doesn’t wake him, Thor can faintly sense the warm throbbing of life in the veins, and it fills him with certainty, despite the doubtful comments of his fellow travellers, the Guardians.

Loki has a collar around his neck. It’s there in both forms, a black stripe of silk without a knot or an opening, a tiny silver medallion dangling on it with the script: _Property of the Life Witch – If found, please return to owner._ So far, they haven’t tried cutting it off and risked to cause a fatal change, like losing Loki’s human form forever, or killing him. They are currently on the way to find that witch and have her remove it and whatever other spell she had laid upon him.

“Loki, no!” is the scold everyone has learned by now, it being a fitting response to the feline's self-righteous deeds on the ship.

Thor is the one that Loki habitually asks for food, by walking over to him and, giving some tiny mewl, arching up, front paws on the god's mighty thigh. With the utmost gentility, the claws barely pierce the leather pants, and Thor hears the lunchtime bells in his excruciating pain. The sneaky reminder repeats until the wish is fulfilled, so Thor doesn't postpone it for long any more.

Groot makes a great claw sharpener, as long as he's too immersed in his flashing box of games and no one else is around to stop the (apparently painless) ceremony. All other times, a brawl is induced between the resentful adolescent tree and the growling cat. Groot seems to be worth any following punishment; he's the most irresistible thing for Loki among all these metal walls, besides the quickly deteriorated leather covering of seats in the cockpit.

And besides Thor's cushioned stomach. But that's mostly off-limits as well, unless the god of thunder is in a drunk nap and his guard against the often ill-willed feline is down. The Guardians don't disturb the two gods stuffed in a seat at these times; they're happiest when both inquisitive hitchhikers are asleep. There are photos glued to the kitchen wall for a good tease, though.

Given that everyone else reacts vehemently to waking up with the intruder sharing their body warmth, Loki now frequents Thor's bed during recess; the thunder god usually settles with tossing him farther when he needs space, or simply lying on top of his brother in his sleep, prompting the startling cat to scoot over on its own. Vengeful clawing barely has an effect, Thor brushes it off with a drowsy curse in his alcohol-induced haze before falling back to sleep.

Loki's favourite postures include his back or his abdomen lying up against Thor's warmest regions, which tend to result in highly compromising morning set-ups. It's only a matter of time till one of the less tactful Guardians discover the amusing habit, but the thunder god doesn't fuss about it until then; his momentary resentment is gone right after he hurls the sorcerer's backside out of his face and turns around to slumber on. This is just occasional anyway, his waking is usually unforced, with the most subtle purring against his stomach or neck.

When the clues, whispered or babbled in misty caverns, send them on a lengthy voyage between two solar systems, Quill and Drax have a boredom-inspired idea: Mantis is to look into the feline’s emotions. So she does, sitting down next to the mellow creature and stroking its back.

“Approaching hunger,” she mumbles absently. “Contentment… Some pleasure… You like this, don’t you, tiny beast? How about this? Oh, you do, don’t you?”

“Can we stay on topic?” Quill inquires listlessly while the cat rolls onto its back and stretches out long under Mantis’ caressing fingers.

“Oh, yes, sorry… He despises you all. Hates me too, in fact.”

“Well, it’s mutual. Anything new? Something that could help us?”

“I don’t think so. It's all just... cat feelings. He’s happy about you,” she tells Thor who entered the room a moment before. “But he hates you, too? I’m not sure, I don’t understand it. It's the first time my senses fail me.”

“Don’t blame yourself, he’s always been a mess,” Thor reassures her and moves on to the fridge like they’re chattering about the weather.

Another time, a disorganised meeting ends up in a dare to tickle sleeping Loki's stomach and see what happens. Drax is the one to brave it: Starlord has purposefully let him win the mild competition and _earn_ the task. As all travelers gather around the spot in the utmost silence, the warrior has trouble suppressing his giggle while reaching for the slumbering god’s abdomen.

Loki captures the offending wrist in an iron grasp with eyes still closed; the next moment, he's the feline pouring the screaming man's blood with claws and teeth. The others roar with laughter at Drax’s pained dance as he flings his arm about. When he finally manages to throw the beast at the wall, it bounces off aptly with four limbs, landing on the ground and snarling on. The silver-shining black fur remains perfectly groomed, revealing a lack of fright: anger shows in the wildly whipping tail and the stony glare at the warrior, who is quietly sobbing over his ravaged hand, hoping no one will notice if he turns towards the corner. And they don’t, since they’re already busy weaving the occurrence into coarse ballads for the upcoming eternity.

In the meantime, the Benatar enters the sorcerous field stretching among the sister planets, and watchful eyes behold her from vast distances. Her load is instantly known, and she's guided by powers ethereal and unnoticed towards her destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ [art inspired by the story](https://loki-is-a-dweeb.tumblr.com/post/614291727659024384/how-did-they-end-up-in-the-same-chair-tis-a) ~


	2. Chapter 2

Nebula has been staring at the cat for minutes while chewing over her plate of Hellishly Spicy Potworms. She is bent on perceiving the moment as it turns into the greasy man and rolls off the narrow sill; she wants to see if it yelps or mewls from the pain. No luck so far, however: though the feline is curled up facing the wall, the magic wouldn't happen.

"Check on the pet," she tells Quill who arrives for an instant burger. "I think it's dead."

He throws the frozen good into the oven and looks at the indicated corner from his spot with the curiosity of observing a slug.

"Is it?" he wonders after a minute.

Their dumbfounded silence is broken by the oven's bell.

"I'll get Thor to come in with a spade," he promises and rescues his lunch from the potentially infected kitchen.

After filling up with the nutrients, he finds the thunder god listening to Rocket's complaint over a beer.

"I don't get it. Everything works just fine, but this cursed wreck of a ship won't budge from its direction, no matter what I do. I've even tried tinkering with it from the vent and the machine pit, and I could've been zapped to a pulp meanwhile."

"Have you thought about turning off the engine?" Thor inquires.

"Do you hear this genius, Quill? Yes, I have. But the ship won't stop in the middle of space even if the engine’s off."

"Then how about the breaks?"

"Tried, no use."

“And the cat’s dead,” Quill mutters. “Sorry, man.”

“What?” Thor frowns at him.

“Dead. You know… bit the dust, quit breathing-”

Thor rises wordlessly, and all three march over to the kitchen. They find Loki gone and Nebula scraping the remains of her lunch into the shredder.

"It's alive," she tells them after the meticulous process is finished.

"Has it turned into the pyjama guy?" asks Rocket.

"No. It got up and ran away. After I rubbed its nose with a potworm."

"Why would you do that?" the raccoon freaks out, knowing the atrocious torment level of the act.

"I wanted to make sure," she says and considers the matter settled.

"Wish I had seen that," Thor cackles. "I'll go find him, just to make sure."

Their hidden uneasiness causes them to get on with the search together in a cluster. Mantis and Drax join them on the way out of curiosity over the grim procession.

The feline is found on its side on Thor's bed, legs stretched out, motionless. It unnerves the thunder god, he walks in timidly.

"Loki?"

The green eyes ignore him as he crouches down to face the creature; a stiff gaze and shallow, rapid breathing indicate that something is off, and the fur that's now dim and clustered.

"Guys, he's not all right," Thor mutters.

"Maybe it ate something," Rocket suggests.

"I didn't feed it anything," Nebula hurries to note from the end of the queue.

"Loki? What's wrong?" Thor tries asking while his arm lies on the blanket near the feline instead of touching; he fears of hurting the meek body with his coarse strength. "How can I help? Please, let me know in any way you can. Show me what ails you."

During the futile begging, the raccoon enters and sniffs the air around the other animal in hope to distinguish any poisoning. He straightens up without a result.

"Could be simple fatigue, you know," he tells the god. "I don't think this creature, or at least this form, was born for space travel."

"Yeah, me neither," Thor mumbles. "I guess we should try letting him rest a while."

"Or it is the atmosphere," Mantis whispers then. "We’re close. I can sense something…"

"Like what?" asks Thor walking up to the door.

She seeks the word for the phenomenon before speaking up.

"Anticipation, maybe."

"Of whom?" Quill inquires. "You're not touching anyone."

"I don't even know myself... but I can definitely feel it."

"It might be your own emotion," Drax lets her know in fatherly seriousness. "Today is ice cream day, even I'm excited about that."

Each member digests his imbecility privately, as learned on their own skin, and then Rocket voices his suspicion.

"Remember how Quill’s dad was a planet? Maybe this one is an entire solar system."

"Don't be creepy," the demigod frowns at him and leads the group away from the room.

"I'm Groot," comes the note from the teenage quarters.

"He'll be fine, I'm sure," Quill answers while passing the half-open door on his way to the kitchen.

"I'm Groot."

"That would be gracious, I guess, but it doesn't fit our policy," Rocket calls back. "He's got the right to live even if he's sick or an a-hole."

The response is interrupted by a tremor that throws some of them off their feet.

"And we've landed," Quill groans while clambering up.

They are unable to decipher their location: everything works except the engines related to transport or navigation. They have a lengthy debate over whether to leave the ship for exploration or stay inside.

“Well, I’m definitely not up for a stroll among these things outside,” Rocket grunts in the end while gazing out the window.

“A wise decision,” Drax adds as he takes a look over his teammate’s head. “You might be mistaken with them and get a collar as well.”

The team crowds over the spot to get a glance at the mass of various creatures scattered among a dimly lit mixture of crooked trees and rocky grounds. On legs two, four, occasionally three or ten, the beasts unmistakably head towards the newly arrived ship, with more interest in it than in attacking each other, as would be normal in the eyes of the Guardians.

“You should hide during our fight, Rocket, so you don’t get lost among them,” mutters the warrior.

The back of the ship is assaulted first, irregular outbursts of force tug at it. Quill turns on a screen and tampers with the dysfunctional weapon controls during his note:

“I’m pretty sure your fate would be the same, given that they have those hairless gorillas at the back.”

“And baboons, like you,” Nebula tells him in front of another camera screen.

“I don’t look like those!” the demigod snaps.

“We could be turned into one of them, though,” Mantis voices her idea. “Maybe these are all people cursed like Loki.”

“So what then?” Thor inquires. “Do we stay in and wait for a miracle?”

“You wanted to be the big boss, here is your chance,” Quill points out. “Go and ask them in your godspeech why they’re trying to tear the ship to pieces.”

“Maybe they don’t like the colour,” Nebula muses. “It’s quite hideous.”

The owner is quick to defend the machine.

"Or they come for the smell cause you st-"

He falls silent mid-word and listens together with the others. Then he follows Thor who walks towards the source of the incoherent speech with long steps.

"He's back," the thunder god’s next breath forms when he steps into the room and crouches before the sorcerer on the bed.

Quill stops at the door, soon with his friends standing loosely behind him, eager for news.

"Never," Loki mumbles in his sleep.

He takes but a few shallow breaths, and then he shudders, his form melting into the feline again, although the eyes remain closed. It makes Thor's limbs grow cold: they've only seen the cat fully awake before. His questioning glance at the lingering members of the team gets no answer, just uncertain blinks, so he carefully places a hand on the furry shoulder.

It's a relief when the animal glances up reluctantly under the weight of the palm, and weakly tries to push away from the touch. Thor draws back obediently.

“Are you in pain, brother?” he asks, his tone reveals vain hope for an answer. “I know you need rest, but you’re the only sorcerer here, you must know more than us about this. Let me-”

He trails off when Loki’s form emerges again. He shakes his head unconsciously and endeavours another touch on the upper arm.

“Let me know what you need. Contact my mind somehow, please,” he pleads while his thumb lightly squeezes the cotton-clad skin. But Loki remains himself during the attempts to be stirred awake, the lids shut tightly over the ever-moving eyes.

"I sense joy," Mantis notes softly outside, glancing around like she’s seeing something the others don’t.

Thor’s gaze falls upon her in his helplessness.

“Can you… can you see how Loki is feeling now? Maybe it would reveal something.”

She nods, passing Quill and Nebula as she walks over to the bed to fulfil the request.

She gasps and jerks her hand away from the pale temple after a second; but instead of answering the dumbfounded gazes, she braces herself and places it back at once. Her voice trembles.

"Pain, fright, determination," she lists at a steady pace before stopping for a breath. "Hope. A steeled will pushing against something immovable. A nightmare torments him."

She holds her fingers in her other hand in subconscious defence after releasing. The look in her dark eyes confirms her reluctance to repeat the attempt, so Thor reassures her:

“That’s more than enough. Thank you, strange girl.”

“It didn’t help much, did it? I can’t tell the content of dreams, I’m sorry.”

“I can,” says the thunder god hoarsely while sweeping the raven hair away from Loki’s neck, revealing a subtle belt of discoloured blood under the skin.

“Holy shit,” Quill blurts out. “You sure you didn’t feed it anything?”

Nebula shakes her head with silent contempt towards the man.

“It isn’t poisoning but physical injury,” Thor lets them know, staring at the phenomenon. His fingers sliding down to the beginning swell on the wrist, his conviction takes hold. “It’s from a battle past.”

“Should we treat it?” Quill inquires, and the cyborg interrupts the preparing answer.

“No use. When he wanted to end someone, he never left it for chance.”

Only Thor is sure whom she's referring to; they digest the truth of the words in a minute's silence. Finally, the thunder god scoops up the slender body into his arms.

“I’m going to look for help,” he announces.

On his way out, he records his friends collecting their battle gears.

"Don't," he warns. His gaze lingers on the silver medallion in the sorcerer's neck. "If this is indeed a battle, it is the sort that won't be decided by numbers or weapons. It's best if I go alone."

"Are you crazy?" Drax wants to know.

"I trust my instincts. You stay and defend the ship; you can never leave if it gets destroyed."

"And you better avoid a fight on the way," Rocket suggests. "It could take long to beat all of these things off, and no clue how much time Loki has."

Thor nods in agreement.

"I'll keep my purpose clear," he says and attaches Stormbreaker to his back with one move before carrying his brother through the mechanically opening door.


	3. Chapter 3

The colourful army of creatures follow a few feet away, with quiet, disharmonious chattering. A few bickers awake and get abandoned quickly among them. Thor doesn't hear sounds that he could understand, just like he never got to speak to Loki in that feline form. Soon, he grows unsettled by the heavy stomping behind his back; he's tired of glancing behind him for expected attacks of the bulky humanoids closing the procession. A barely grounded suspicion hums inside him that Loki's presence makes the animals frantic; the occasional attempts to gnaw at the unconscious figure in his arms, or to snatch it away from him, could be mere instinctual acts of witless beings. Nevertheless, it would be great if Loki was awake right now, he thinks while breaking into a run to avoid having to fight against the increasingly vehement attempts at theft.

The army of creatures follow. As he holds through an area of light shrubbery, something tall and smooth looms up in the distance against the dirt-coloured sky: a floating object, vertically long, pointed. Getting closer, he can distinguish a line of columns spiralling around it, starting from a round disc midway. It seems to be the only artificial object in the rocky area, so he heads towards it.

Soon after he does, the pursuers give up on them one by one, leaving him staring at the phenomenon above.

The Stormbreaker helps him fly up and land on what looks like the base to the vertical castle. Now he glances around in the court more spacious than it seemed from far away. The air is clearer here, unused carts are lining by the walls, but there isn’t a soul to welcome or attack him. A tall gate stands in the building's wall, silent an uninviting. Thor walks that way with his burden.

The door won’t budge, so he raises a fist to bang on the cool marble.

“_Only one can enter,_” the sky sings while his arm is mid-air. “_The one you pride in, or the one you protect. It is a twoness paving your path since the beginning. Here, you crystallise._”

He doesn't understand it at first, and it unnerves him, since he's got no time to waste. He carries Loki back into the middle of the yard and attempts to bargain with the sky.

"I don't mean any harm," he yells. "I just need help for my brother."

No answer comes. However, he feels a light shudder run through his load, and the urgent dilemma torments him: to fight or to plead his way in.

The minute he decides and props the heavy axe to the wall, he knows it's what has been requested.

He uses both arms once again to carry his brother towards the gate. His hold tightens at the tormented groan.

"Just a little bit more," he tells the limp body. "I will not leave you in this adversity"

It’s the first day in aeons that he can touch him, though he’d never wish for the dire circumstances that allow it; his mind recalls the evening on the Statesman, and he wonders if there would ever be a chance for the embrace he denied back then. Had he known it was the last time that...

Foolish musing, however. What would he have done? Don’t all people live without knowing when their last chance is to love?

Love?

The notion comes as something foreign into his mind: strange when it comes to him and Loki, it’s been for a long while; not in their youth, of course. And Thor knows he still loves his brother, through all the annoyance and pain he’s causing by his self-destructive acts. And he knows Loki loves him, in the way he’s able to after all he’s been through. Thor would not doubt that for a minute. It's merely the word itself that tastes uncanny.

For that reason, he doesn’t understand why he’s been dwelling over that night now and then, why he feels that not acting upon his words resulted in a subtle lack. An embrace isn’t the way they used to show fondness: it was mockery, smiles, playful banters, an interest in each other’s chosen paths, rather. And it used to be fine like that; at least he'd thought it had been, until Loki’s actions exploded into direness on Coronation Day. Thor just realises it couldn’t have been the first time, it was too radical for that. When should he have paid closer attention? At which point did they stop _seeing_ each other?

“I don’t know the answers, brother,” he admits whispering, sorrow in his voice. “But I swear to you, I never wanted you away.

The bulky door opens as lightly as pages turn in a breeze. A hall of unseen height, lit by pulsating stars, encloses around them after the thunder god makes his way inside.

“Very well,” the hall echoes with a different voice this time before he could call for anyone's presence. “You have entered.”

The thunder god’s eyes don't spot the womanly figure until it starts descending the stairs.

“Are you the Life Witch?” he demands.

“I am. And you are the God of Thunder, bringing something back to me, correct?”

“Not exactly. I’ll have you remove your spell, and this collar, from my brother.”

"It's an inscription that guides anyone here when they take my pet in," the witch explains as she descends the last steps and stands before the god, their height equal. The word used heats up the thunder god's temple.

"You've made miscalculations then," he growls in forced tranquillity. "I'm here to clear it up. So make haste and undo your magic. He doesn't have much time."

"No, he doesn't. He eloped at a dire point. I'll need to take him from you, or he won't live."

"Well, there is a reason he eloped, and I won't be the one to make that undone blindly."

"Not this time, you mean?"

Thor frowns silently at the words he had only thought in his mind.

"Be it as it may, witch, you can't alter my choice. Free him from your curse, or I will destroy you along with this entire place."

The woman smiles; her measured walk leads them towards the centre of the hall.

"Every choice is but a moment, did you know that? The rest is preparation to face it," she says, turning and opening her arms, ready to accept the burden that Thor holds tighter to himself.

"The other creatures, they're the same, aren't they? Your _pets_," he spits. "They wanted to harm him. Loki could even have made mortal enemies here, it isn't far from his thoughtless nature. I'd be a fool to leave him here at their leisure."

"Envy, nothing else" she explains. "No one has come to take _them _back. I'm immensely happy each day one of them is found truly wanted, you know. Helping a soul take its rightful place is the most precious thing."

Thor's battle turns inwards as the honesty in the woman's smile appeals to his instincts. He wishes he could give in to the voice that says this is the right choice; this is indeed the only choice. Loki has no time left.

The thunder god swallows instead of his brother who struggles to do so; his breathing is getting laboured as his gullet swells. Images torment Thor's mind, the golden gauntlet holding up the helplessly struggling body like a fowl for slaughter. He watches idle from the side like he did back then. Like he did before that. And before that.

He raises grey-blue eyes at the woman who looks steadily at him, pleading to her with inner tears.

"What are you doing to me?"

"It is you, not me. You crystallise."

"This is not the time for such nonsense. Help him!"

"I will if you make that choice."

He shakes his head frowning as he stands before the decision he needs to make, dreading that he might blindly send his brother to his demise with it. In helplessness, his lips press to Loki's forehead lengthily.

"I'm sorry," he whispers onto the skin like a blessing. "If this is the wrong choice, I will pray that its consequence finds me instead of you. And I can but hope you would ever forgive me."

While he hands over his burden to the woman's inviting arms, he takes one last glance to see if Loki shows a hint of resistance. But the sorcerer is sound asleep, breathing shallow and burdened. There is no excuse offering itself for Thor to hang onto the body any longer.

The next moment could be a minute or a century later; he mentally curses all living sorcerers as he looks around in the narrow room they're now standing in, ancient walls only illuminated by the energy that stretches over Loki's sleeping form on a pedestal.

Thor walks closer and stops a foot away from the witch and the bed. He's not sure he could call Stormbreaker if needed, but it would occur in time, he settles.

“The thread of his fate has been torn by the one that meddled into the working of the powers," says the woman gazing at the sleeping god.”

"No more stalling, witch. Break the curse on my brother now, or perish by my hand."

“He is in the right place here, healing."

"He is in the wrongest place possible."

"Can't you see him better than before?"

Thor's silence is that of approval while he observes that Loki's injuries are gone once again; the sorcerer sleeps soundly in the transparent cocoon.

"Why do you see him to be wrong here, where he can be whole?" the woman asks again. "Do you wish for his death, or for his suffering?"

"No. But I don't wish him captive to your whim."

"His mind is at peace now, more comfortable than he's ever been. Look at his face."

"This is no life."

"This is the only life he can have now. Do you choose him to be dead instead?"

Thor swallows.

"He... His life is not in my hands, to choose."

"Not, if you don't want it."

"But it isn't yours to take either!" he thunders at her.

"I collect lives that have been thrown away. Only when their owners decide they don't want it do I take it and put it to good use, under my servitude."

"Loki didn't throw his life away, it was taken," Thor spits at the thought of Thanos.

"The Titan needn't have taken it, he had no such intention either. The life was thrown before him with purpose: to give him the kill that was already lying in his palm."

“You speak in riddles, witch. Say it clearly so I can understand.”

"The Titan was angered, gloating in his triumph. He was going to kill before leaving. This one threw his life away to become that kill, in his brother's place."

"No," Thor hisses, his posture becoming more intimidating as his heart pounds in fear of the truth. "Loki planned it well, only Thanos was too powerful already."

“That, he was," the witch agrees, although it doesn't feel like Thor has won the debate. "If I remove the enchanted collar, Loki turns back into the state I found him in: he’ll be broken and die in a short while. You have nothing to evade that.”

Thor hesitates but for a second.

“I have my life to give. I'll give it to Loki instead of the one spent.”

“Your life? Even though you know he carries the burden of an evil fate? He’s done merciless acts in the world ever since the dawn of your kin. You are valorous, you bring hope and courage to people.”

“I don’t care.” Thor’s eyes are now shaded dark like a storm. “This is the choice you asked of me. I want him to live.”

“What for then?”

“He’s my brother.” That’s all he can say.

“Adopted,” smiles the witch.

“His death was unjust,” he presses on. “The work of Thanos cannot be seen mended until Loki is sound again.”

“Many have perished in that battle, and the return of one will not mend everything.”

“His return will make it one person better. Bind him to spend this life mending the fate of others, if you want.”

“I have no power, and no inclination, to bend one’s mind to my own perspective.”

“I beg you,” Thor whispers. “Take my life for his. I have nothing else to give.”

“With your life, you trade in all the good you’d bring to all the evil he is to call forth. He is drawn into the abyss ceaselessly. Without you around, there is nothing pulling him back.”

“He has yet to have the chance to be good. He will grow.”

“You are mistaken if you think your own growth is finished.”

“I have no such beliefs. But I want him to have that chance. Give it to him. Please. Tell me what it costs.”

There is a smile in her eyes in the following silence.

“You are your mother's son,” she says then. “I have no more doubts: you’ll get what you journeyed here for.”

"Don't hesitate any longer," Thor asks, and there is nothing but relief inside him.

She nods and stands behind the pedestal, arms open and illuminated by the healing light.

“Thor, son of Frigga the Wise, you have answered every question right. I will happily pass your story on to the world.”

"I'm ready," Thor says. "Do whatever you have to."

"It is already at work, no need to do anything else."

Before he could respond, he shudders awake in the familiar cabin of the Benatar. The last sentence echoes into the roaring silence like a fading dream. A weight causes him to stay still amidst his racing thoughts. In this manner, he grows aware of the breaths of waking and the warm stir on his chest. His heart pounds, expectant of the change at any moment. Until teal eyes flutter open and look up at him. He stills under their gaze, his conviction grows in their warmth.

“Brother,” forms Loki’s slurred breath. “It’s a dream.”

“No,” Thor manages to press through his inner turmoil as the sorcerer’s head falls back on his chest.

“Then what?”

“You’re awake. Or I’m the one dreaming.”

“I’m not a beast.”

“You aren’t. You’re Loki.”

A while passes unmoving, the information needs to be processed. Then Loki sits up smoothly on the edge of the bed, with his back to Thor. His fingers run along his throat, searching for the collar, or the wound.

“It’s broken?”

“If you mean the curse, it is,” says the thunder god.

The lengthy silence makes the following question sound almost timid.

“You offered your life?”

“That was the price, she said.”

As if it were the most natural excuse.

Loki finds it aggravating. He reaches across unhurried, and a knife cuddles against the thunder god’s neck.

“If it’s that worthless to you, I’ll gladly take it.”

Thor smiles at him over the blade.

“I wasn’t meant to keep it anyway. But it’s good to see you whole again.”

“I’ll take Asgard from you, too. Have you dumped them on Earth?”

“Asgard is in good hands. I left it to Valkyrie.”

“Valkyrie?” the sorcerer is astonished. “That’s deeply insulting. No way a drunkard is better than me for the throne.”

“Better than the dead,” Thor mumbles.

His momentary gloom earns but a sharp look, while Loki stands up and assumes a light attire of raw leather and silk in a blink. His fingers lightly brush over the handle of the Stormbreaker before he leaves the cabin without a glance back.

The Guardians take him like he'd always been in this form, his presence on board goes unquestioned. His flagrant elegance, however, gets frowned upon by Star-Lord at every chance offered.

"Look at Mr Prince," the man scowls, "One would think he's not even wearing his pyjama shorts under the magical veil."

"And if I do stoop to your level at dressing, then what?" Loki is curious to know.

"Then your head has no right to be so bloated, that's what."

The trickster smiles meekly with the straw of his drink between his lips, and he lets the argument drop. It doesn’t meet suspicion as it would if they had known each other longer. Thus, that evening’s scene in the kitchen, usual gathering spot for all, is unanticipated, though not a first. Thor enters to a few members’ fiery discussion of the opera-singing mice in Quill’s room. Some claim the demigod is imagining them, others threaten him not to let them out and in anyone else’s quarters, or he shall lose some of his vital organs while asleep. He himself denies and demands in high-pitched rage. Thor chortles at the story deciphered.

"Not even a scolding frown?" the culprit inquires from the silent corner, genuinely surprised.

"I don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Loki," the thunder god says to the beer shelf in the fridge before harvesting it.

The trickster hasn’t turned into a feline ever since the visit into the mysterious solar system, from which they found themselves travelling away when they woke up. As nothing peculiar has happened since, they don’t enforce discussing the matter. As for the photos in the kitchen, they’ve been torn off by Loki at first sight, and no one has ever asked about them. The earth-filled litter box on the corridor has been emptied by the last person in turn for cleaning, and it hasn’t reappeared since. The torn-up seats in the cockpit are a subject of arguments, the blame travels from person to person. Groot is its final carrier, he shrugs off the scold, too busy beating his current game.

The next objective: tracking down Gamora.

"The name is familiar," Loki notes during a discussion around the rarely ever populated dinner table.

"She's my girlfriend," Quill lets him know.

"And my sister," Nebula adds.

"And our crewmate," Rocket says. "So we want to get her to join us again, otherwise we'll have to listen to Quill whine about her till we die."

The rest of the conversation slips by Loki’s attention; he takes note of it a few seconds later, as he tears his gaze away from the baby yarrow root swinging by the stem in distracted Nebula’s hand.

"I do _not _whine about her!" snaps the subject of repeated accusation. “I just remind you when you're forgetting our primary goal!”

"Which is all the time," Nebula points out.

The sorcerer’s look darts across the table again as the edible plant stirs along with the cyborg. It doesn’t escape her attention, unfortunately. Redrawing from the conversation, she observes and quickly deciphers the look glued to her food, following its movement with precision. The slight tilt of her head shows an inclination to experiment.

Loki is unamused, to say the least. He is annoyed mostly with himself, as it takes him physical force to keep his attention away lengthily from the plump, ever-swaying root in the cyborg’s hand. He clears his throat while fidgeting in his seat, legs craving to jump up. A hand supports his chin to keep his head turned away from the unrelenting tease. There, it’s that simple. His will is his own. The game is over.

Scornfully, Nebula acknowledges it and lifts the vegetable into her mouth.

The root gives in at that moment, and the thin tail breaks off, letting the rest fall. It happens too fast and Loki has no time to stop himself: his arm darts out, and his upper body lies across the table to catch the eloper before he’d know it, enclosing it into a fist.

The Guardians stare at him dumbfounded, holding their respective bowls and drinks safely away from the table – the years’ worth of regular brawls have planted this reflex deep into their nerves. Loki bites his lips with a blink between baffled and embarrassed amidst the suddenly quiet stares, and he hands the root back to Nebula in a vain attempt to pretend mere courtesy. Meanwhile, his look is killing the cyborg, whose unsmiling face radiates the clearest amusement. The freshly discovered weak spot of the sorcerer gets stored in her pernicious little heart.

Loki also finds in himself a fondness for heat: a craving he deliberately ignores until it builds up to an unbearable level. Nothing much warm is found in the spaceship as lousily kept as its members and their attitudes, not even after digging through everyone’s possessions systematically, unnoticed. Thor’s hideous cardigan is the warmest object here, but that oaf hasn’t taken it off once; in fact, he is impossible to trick out of his clothing by any means. His constant foolish chortling at everything is probably to hide his embarrassment over his lousy shape, but that’s another matter to exploit. Right now, the objective is claiming the oaf’s bed, which is aeons better at heat preservation than the rack Loki was lent to sleep on. So he sneaks into the cabin before Thor and sinks into the mattress with a pleasured sigh.

“It’s my bed now, stay away,” he mumbles into the pillow when the door opens and the usual heavy odour of ale sweeps over his face.

“What? Why?”

“Reasons. Just go with it and you can live.”

There is no annoyance in the thunder god’s acknowledging hum, which is rightfully unsettling. As proof, the bed is assaulted by his weight in a second.

“Thor, no,” the sorcerer warns.

“I don’t mind if you stay, been sleeping like this for ages while you were cursed.”

“Jinxed. There is a difference, even you have lear- Don’t you dare touch the blanket!” he snaps in vain, because Thor is settling into the bed like all is well. “Forget it, brother, there is no way you can commmm-," he moans helplessly at the shivering pleasure as the warmth of the thunder god’s shoulder presses against his back under the cover. "Get off," forms the end of his breath.

"It's my bed, you get off," Thor chuckles, his back pushing up against Loki’s and tossing him lightly, "if you want."

The sorcerer elbows him back, but the sharp hit is barely felt on the cushioned back.

"I’ve taken it away, you get off," he tries but his rigour drowns in his husky voice.

"You don't sound displeased, brother."

"I'll smite you," Loki shivers weakly.

"Smite me quickly then, and then go to sleep."

Oh, he will smite. After a tad bit more of this pleasuring warmth. He absorbs the delicious living heat with an eagerness he despises in himself. He can’t wait till they reach the next planet, and he can sneak off on his own to stir trouble on a scale bigger than turning these losers on each other.

**END(ish)  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was lousy. Thank you so much for reading! <3


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